


All I Want Is You

by lizook12



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:49:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizook12/pseuds/lizook12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>God, he misses everything about her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want Is You

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Carly Simon song of the same name.

Sighing, he switches off the TV, leans back against the headboard. Everything suddenly seems too still—too serious—and he wonders if it’s the nature of the reason behind her absence that’s causing it or if he’s just projecting.

Right now he’s willing to put money on the latter.

Not that a family emergency—her bubbe’s pneumonia—was something he took lightly, but she’s been gone almost a week and half and he’s pretty sure he’s going crazy.

Because even though they’d known it was going to be an extended trip, had already talked on the phone a dozen times, there’s nothing like her here in his— _their_ —space.

The way she tosses her shoes next to his by the couch, the cute little humming she does when she’s the first one up to make the coffee, that sexy way she sneaks into the bathroom during his morning shower...

God, he fucking misses everything about her.

And the memory of the night before she’d left isn’t helping things.

It’s seared onto his brain, the way her skin felt, her lips moved and... jesus, if those twenty minutes spent in the hammock still don’t make him proud, cause his heart to pound...

The humid night air drifts in from the window above him and he grits his teeth, lets his head fall back against the pillow. The discomfort of it spins him back to the island, to that third year when tension almost constantly thrummed through his body and there was seldom a way for him to release it.

Yes, that had been a much longer dry spell than the torture he’s currently experiencing and though he’d taken care of himself then (learning a few lessons about the abrasiveness of sand in the process) the option is far less appealing now.

His touch is no substitute for hers and his body knows it.

Still, it doesn’t help the blind need coursing through him and he kicks roughly at the sheets in a vain attempt to get comfortable.

Snatching a book off the night stand, he continues to twist and turn on the mattress, finally surrendering to the knowledge that relaxation is far out of his reach tonight.

Hell, the smell of her shampoo even taunts him, drifting across the small space separating their pillows and...

He just really needs her home before he has to take matters into his own hands.

Turning back to the book on his lap, he inhales slowly, tries to focus on it instead of everything else that’s going on in his head and body.

It should be easy, it’s a book she’d bought him for their anniversary on the history of archery and he’s been devouring it chapter by chapter. Somehow it just makes things worse though, the words swimming before his eyes, and he tosses it noisily to the floor.

The curtains flare out just then, another humid gust of wind surging through though the house, surrounding him with her scent and, he swears, her laughter and it’s just too fucking much.

Roughly he kicks out of his pants, lets his hand fall to his straining erection.

He groans at the first contact, eyes flying shut at the sheer heat of the first stroke, his need for it— _for her_ —undeniable.

Swirling his thumb over the tip of his arousal, he inhales sharply, hips bucking off the mattress as desire intensifies even further.

He can feel her skin against his, her mouth teasing over his hip, nails raking across his back in that way she knows he loves, and suddenly he’s on the edge, heat gathering at the base of his spine, flaring across his shoulders as he continues to stroke himself over and over and—

The door crashes against the wall as she stumbles in, suitcase landing heavily on the floor as her breath hitches.

“‘Licity...” His voice is strangled, eyes dark with question, and she knows by the line of his shoulders he’s holding back.

“Oliver, I’m here, let go.” She quickly crosses the small space between them, her fingers drifting over his shin as she leans towards him. “I want to... need to... see you...”

That’s all it takes and he comes, headboard pounding against the wall, her name on his lips, as pleasure overwhelms him.

When he finally meets her gaze, she’s grinning down at him, the corner of her mouth lifted in challenge as she kicks off her shoes, shrugs out of her top.

“Not very nice of you you to start without me, but...” She hitches up her skirt, knees bracketing his as she straddles him. “It’s ok, now I get to have my fun...”

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for this came from **nikkicienna** musing about whether, in times of isolation, Oliver took care of urges on the island. Clearly, my brain thought it needed to be explored.


End file.
